One Night With The King
by aswewalked
Summary: One night with the king. Just one; it could not amount to more than a few hours. She could damn herself to the last circle of Hell for a few hours of darkness if it meant her people would be showered in light for years.
1. The Price Of Freedom

**To Whom It May Concern: The following fic is a What-If scenario featuring Logan, King of Albion, and Page, the leader of the band rebelling against him. It takes place some years before the game, as if the game's plot will never happen. Aside from character spoilers, it contains nothing that will give the game away for you. Enjoy.**

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**One Knight With The King**

**Chapter 1 - The Price Of Freedom**

_You must pay the price if you wish to secure the blessing.  
-Andrew Jackson_

**-x-**

One night with the king. Just one; it could not amount to more than a few hours. She could damn herself to the last circle of Hell for a few hours of darkness if it meant her people would be showered in light for years. After all, it was Hell that she practically existed in already, growing up in the slums and dwelling in the sewers of Bowerstone Industrial, living in constant anxiety that at any moment the Royal Guard could barge in and destroy what Albion so badly needed. This paranoia had only double as of late, and for one reason in particular: the King had contacted her.

He had done so by way of letter. And she was surprised to find it written his own, somewhat sloppy hand, strange as she expected him to have writing neat as a pin. But regardless of what manner he wrote it in, he still wrote it nonetheless. He had known who to give it to, someone she trusted who could relay the message to her. Did this not mean that he was capable of infiltrating her camp through just her allies alone? Granted the few she had were strong, but there was no measurable extent to the king's wickedness and it was more than likely he would be able to attain the information he needed in some torturous way or another. The thought was enough to make her shudder. Surely he was more than capable of doing this, wasn't he? She had guessed not, seeing how he hadn't yet done it, but once she read the letter, she assumed that her conjecture was simply Plan B. But she wondered after reading...was Plan A much better?

In the midsts of her concern about his knowledge of the rebellion's location and his ability to reach them, she had received the surprise of her life. It had been an unpleasant one to say the least. There, in the urgent scrawl of the King's letter, was nothing less than a hardly subtle invitation to his bed. In exchange for his tyranny to cease, she had to give herself to him completely for just one night. One night with the king.

Initially, after reading the proposal over a few times, the feeling it gave her was, well...a rather complimented one. She might have been more resistant to the advances of men than most women were. But...she was still human. The fact that someone, a tyrant but a king no less, had noticed _her_ of all people and taken the time to approach her (though by letter as it was the only way he could inconspicuously contact her) was flattering to say the least. He might have been a tyrant, and the approach was less than moral, but still...there was something oddly comforting about it.

She got to thinking about the King. It must have been a great lust that drove him to propose this to her, for she was sure he was not looking for peace between he and the people. At least not enough to offer it for just _anything_. Ys, desire was the only answer. But if peace was something she assumed he did not care much for and ardor was the only reason he offered it in the first place, why could he not use a simple courtesan? That way he would satisfy his appetite _and_ he could still be a tyrant.

It then occurred to her that she had never heard of a concubine ever stepping foot in that castle. The late Hero King, God rest his soul, had forbidden it as he was good and pure and faithful to the Queen when they were living. At least _some _part of the present monarch would choose to follow in his father's footsteps, would it not?. Sure, he was not currently married. But he would not stoop as low as his amoral industrialist ally, Reaver.

She thought of him, up there in the solitary grandeur of his castle. Of course, he had servants and guards so, realistically, he was not the only being up there. But in essence, it truly was him alone, isolated not by body but by soul from everyone around him. She had every reason to believe that when he spoke anytime outside the throne room to his staff it was only to give an order. In her imaginings, the guards and servants provided little company or conversation for him, most of them holding nothing but fear in their hearts for him. His only hope of socializing would have been his little sister, but considering the age difference between the king and the young princess, it was unlikely they spent any great deal of time together.

It must have gotten terribly lonely up there, as he certainly had no friends. Allies, perhaps, but friends, definitely not. And people who'd be willing to sleep with him? Out of the question, really. It was not that the man was unattractive outwardly. In fact, he might've made quite the heartbreaker in another life. But inwardly he was a horrific, ugly monster. Everyone saw that. Yes, terribly lonely he must have been and she could not help the small flickers of sympathy that spun in her heart, followed by an even stronger feeling that she could relate to his loneliness. He simply needed someone to hold, someone who could make him feel as though nothing else in the world could touch him. And though she was loathe to admit it, she needed it too. Almost as much as she needed freedom from tyranny. When was the last time a man held her? Not for a long time as she recalled.

She figured the kings thinking was that no common whore driven by a simple thirst for gold could grant him such a feeling and that only someone truly passionate about something would really try and make him feel the way he needed to feel. He must've thought of her and her zeal for freedom of tyranny, which was something he actually _could_ offer her even if he did not want to. Well, she knew no man, especially Logan, could make herfeel the way she needed to feel. But Logan alone could offer her an end to his tyranny.

Soon after thinking this over, she gained her usually senses and gone were the feelings of sympathy and understanding only to be replaced by a wave of nausea hitting her with enough force to make her stumble backwards and drop the letter, gasping softly for a breath and finding none in the hideous, green-tinted air of the sewer. Suddenly, she was completely enraged. How dare that man, king or no, even suggest something so vile! All he wanted to do was ravish her as a way to get all his anger at the world out on her. And she guessed she'd be the only one willing to do it...for freedom! Even among whores for gold, no one wanted anything as badly as Page wanted freedom. And she would be the price...the price of freedom.

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_**Greetings, my fellow fanfic-ers! I do hope you enjoyed this first chapter, though I rather doubt it. It's my first real Fable story. All I've done otherwise is oneshots...I'm a tidbit nervous…okay a lot nervous! By the way, don't forget to check out my oneshot "Now Choose", it is also Logan-based because, well, lets just face it: HE IS AWESOMENESS!**_

_**Well, here's a bit of background on this fic. My friend gave me an idea one day while we were playing Fable III at her house. We got to the part where (Spoiler Alert!) the generals are giving their debates and arguments on why you should kill your tyrant brother, Logan. We couldn't help but notice Page seemed to down the idea, saying that "But aren't we better than that?" and "…killing him now won't solve anything". (End of Spoiler Alert) So naturally, being the somehwhat-twisted, hopeless romantic that she is, she saw something between Page and Logan that turned into a proposal. She came out and rather randomly asked "What if Page had slept with Logan in exchange for the end to his tyranny." I told her it had nothing to do with the game's real plot. She said something like "I know, its just my fantasizing again." But I got to thinking, and was like that would be a good fic. And she practically jumped on me and saying "WRITE IT NOW!" And I was like, I didn't mean for ME to write! But I just couldn't resist her puppy-dog eyes. So here I am, wasting my time writing something you guys probably won't even like, let alone comment on (Still, comments are highly appreciated!). Oh well, it was a blast to write anyways. I've already written most of it, meaning for it to be a one shot, but it got too long so I just decided to divid it into a few chapters. So yea, that's basically the story of this story. Despite my doubt, I do HOPE you like it ^_^. Please comment, I'd be very grateful. Depending on the feedback I get, I may post the next chapter very soon! But if it gets to be a long time without anything I'll probably just scrap this. Let me know what you think, ways I can improve, etc. Thanks! I love you all ~Jack**_

_**Mood: Anxious  
Listening to: Reaver's Mansion - Fable III (OST) **_


	2. The Suffering Of Sacrifice

**One Night With The King**

**Chapter 2 - The Suffering of Sacrifice**

The ramblings of her rebellious peers, however constant and disapproving of her decision they were, did not phase the young rebel leader for even a mere second. She did not need their scrutiny on this; she knew what she was doing, or at least that's what she had convinced herself of. But sometimes, one simply _had_ to convince themselves of something. Page had become a master in this skill. Her job called for it. She could show no second thoughts, could never second guess themselves lest her rebels start to lose what already flimsy faith they had left in her. Being the decidedly small, ineffective group they were already, she could not afford to loose anymore. It was hard to trust people when they were rebels, never knowing if the man beside you is a hardcore maverick...or a hired assassin.

Soon after she received the letter, her attempts to hide it were shot when one of her men discovered it in her room. What Kidd had been doing snooping around her personal belongings in the first place, she had no idea. But she was never given a chance to ask nor scold him for it. At first he was greatly amused by the notion, even laughing aloud at it in his ponderous chuckle. But after learning his superior planned to except the invitation he was sightly angered and severely disappointed. The message spread like a wildfire through the rebel camp, all of its inhabitants having a similar reaction to Kidd's.

Most of them felt deceived by such news, complaining to her saying that the man would never hold his end of the bargain up. This, she knew well, was a likely possibility. Of the few promises Logan had made in his time as king, he had failed to keep and broke more of them than what sat comfortable with the people. But she would always respond to those who stood against her choice, stating that she had to at least try...for Albion.

And while they were thrilled by the prospect of freedom, they were saddened by what their beloved leader would have to go through to obtain such a fine thing. Being who they were, rebels, they knew the pain of sacrifice well. They all claimed they knew how she felt. But they'd no idea... She herself had no idea. But she knew one thing: the sufferings of their sacrifices were hardly able to stand beside what Page feared was in store for her...

**-x-**

By some miracle, such a delicious scandal managed to stay within the walls of the rebel camp alone. So the day she emerged from the sewers, heavy brown cloak concealing her identity well, she was surprised to find that her wanted posters contained no obscene comments about the whole ordeal. Her dirty dreads had been shoved in to the usual headband and tucked under the cloak. She still wore her everyday clothing, but the cape covered all of it. People _did _give her a few odd looks here and there, but she was certain that was only due to the fact she looked rather foreboding with her dark attire masking nearly every inch of her being. But she wanted to keep this a secret as much as possible now. If not for the king's honor, than for her own. Realistically, he had no honor left, so it did not matter to her. But she knew herself to have some and would not have him compromising it for her.

Standing by the (surprisingly open) gates of the massive fortress, she glanced up the dark, snaking path until her eyes reached the jagged silhouette of Bowerstone Castle, its many windows lit with yellow like the angry eyes of some feral, beautiful beast that could stalk all. The elaborate structure appeared almost as foreboding as she did. It seemed to strike something into her heart. Something that hadn't been struck before when she had glanced at the castle. She'd even gone inside it many a time, before she had become a wanted woman, to plea for fairer treatment. It had gotten neither her people nor her anything except for the King to take notice in her body alone. She had seen the way he looked at her at their first encounter. That first contact had been years ago, but the feeling of intrusion and violation she had received when his dark, hungry eyes scoured over her body had not faded the many times it was preform in later rendezvouses. It seemed as though that was how he greeted her. Though she'd never come face to face with the industrialist, she doubted Logan's glances were as bad as a once-over from Reaver, as she had heard it said from both men and women alike that his was always accompanied by a noticeable smirk and an entirely inappropriate suggestion followed by even more inappropriate actions. The king's were not as forthcoming, but rather secluded as if he was at least trying to conceal such libido and he never did act upon the urges.

Of course, she had toyed with the idea of using his attraction to her for her own advantage... But she'd been a much stronger, much less desperate woman than she was now and refused herself to stooping lower than a common harlot, so each time she would play his lustful looks off, classifying them as a trick of the light and paying no further heed to them (which unfortunately only caused their intensity to increase with curiosity). Needless to say, times had changed severely since then. While she still held a lot of fire, she was not a strong as she used to be, and her desperation had only increased. Which was why she ended up here on the outskirts of the castle grounds.

The climb up the small mountain the castle sat on proved to be a rather treacherous one, and she had begun to rethink her decision not to use a carriage. By the time she reached the main courtyard, dusk was coming to an end and as the half-blind moon rose, an odd fog settling over the castle as if the brume and fume that blocked the sun out during the day had settled upon the scene for a rest until it would begin its ascension the next morn. And she shuddered to think in that same morn, she'd be waking up in a bed that was not her own...

Taking a deep breath in vain attempt to calm herself, she marched through the gardens towards the main doors. The place was crawling with guards, and she felt all of their eyes on her, even heard a few clicks as they cocked their rifles in anticipation. Admittedly, it must've looked a bit odd, seeing a hooded figure stumbling onto the castle's dark grounds inconspicuously. Still, she reached an unseen hand to her equally invisible pistol which was holstered to her side, receiving instant comfort from the way it felt in her hand. That comfort was short lived as she found herself staring face to face with the thick, dark wood of two great doors standing tall side by side. She looked up at the grand scale of the stone wall and swallowed hard. Of all the windows scene on the magnificent structure, she was sure Logan's room held the least amount them. Not only did he strike her as a man who hated any ray of sunshiney hope, his somewhat pale complexion seemed to say he did not get much exposure to sunlight. The sun barely shown on such a cursed place anyways, though she didn't think that was the gist of it.

Raising a fist to the door, she gave three swift knocks, none too soft. A few seconds ticked by and a guard came to the door. It swayed slightly open, old hinges creaking in protest. The guards voice was gruff, heavy and stern as he inquired about her business here at such an unseemly hour. Glancing up at the large clock above the doorway, she guessed the king did not receive many visitors during the darker hours of the day. The place was scary all the time as it loomed over the city and no one liked to venture to it, even in the brightest hour of the day. But at night it seemed to grow oddly...sinister, as if haunted by a soul tortured in life.

Sighing, she spoke up in as proper a tone as she could muster as she looked back into the guards eyes and said she wished to call an audience the king, and that he had been expecting her. The guard gave her a quizzical look, stating that he hadn't been informed of any visitors coming...but in the end, he let her in.

When asked if she could be searched for any weapons, she practically hissed at the man. "What?" At which he replied with an apology and an excuse that it was the "king's orders". As he did this, he reached a hand out as if to remove the hood of her cloak to see her face. She jerked away, her back facing the stairs. "Do _not_ touch me!" She hissed once more. Normally, she would have allowed herself to be checked, but she was resistant now because she actually carried one. On top of that, she was certain she was going to get enough _touching_ tonight and wanted no part in it until she simply had to. As she spoke, she accidentally allowed her slum-born accent to show a bit too vividly. This angered the guard - the _Royal_ Guard, as it were - that a mere peasant had the nerve to speak to him in such a way. He growled at her almost as viciously as she had to him, calling her rude names and telling her he'd teach her a lesson about manners. He grabbed her wrist and before she knew it, a great force had thrown her to the ground, stomach facing the floor. At the same time, her hood had flown back off her head. But she hardly had the time to adjust it. Instead, she looked over her shoulder and up at the guard who was standing over her, gun pointing directly at her. "Is your king really _stupid_ enough to think I'd carry weapons into his castle?" She all but snarled in a low threatening tone and stood abruptly. Defiantly, she knocked his gun off aim as she made the terrible mistake of reaching for her own pistol. The material of her cloak that had once covered it was gone, exposing the firearm to all who had eyes.

"I suppose he is." Came a man's sonorous voice from behind her. Her scowl faded into a tense, blank expression and her eyes grew large. The voice was _close_ behind her. So close she could practically feel the warmth of the breath given from his previous statement as it blew across the nape of her neck, the shorter strands of stray hair tickling the sensitive area of skin underneath. As he continued to speak, she sensed the pistol sliding from the holster on her hip. Rather uncharacteristically of her, she made no protest as she heard the ticking sound as it was uncocked. "Though some would argue on whether or not _stupid_ is the correct word." The voice continued, and she took a moment to marinate in it for she had not heard it in quite some time. Dulcet, velvety and resonate...like a sensual river. But also harsh and hollow-sounding, brooding like a sad and presaging song just like she remembered it. And at the same time there was a huskiness with a hint of foreign rasping and drawling that made her wonder if he had been drinking. Inhaling, she sensed the faintest redolence of an expensive wine or something of the sort. She watched as her pistol flew from behind her, tossed to the guard who caught it with fumbling difficulty. He was staring bug-eyed at the man behind her, trying to stammer an explanation for his rash actions with fear evident on his face as he continued the mumbling of words that seemed to fall over themselves. By the way he gladly bounced off a moment later, she guessed he had been silently dismissed by little more than a brusque inclination of the head from the man behind her. Though several servants lined the halls, they were alone now, for none of his staff would even look the man in the eye or dare to listen to a conversation he held unless he was addressing them. It was _not _the respect subjects should hold for their monarch what drove them to act like such, but rather it was the fear they held for a tyrant.

Slowly and reluctantly, she turned around.

_Logan..._

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**Thanks for reviewing, the three of you awesome people who did last chapter. It's good to know I'm not just writing for thin air, and that makes me happy. Sorry none of the chapters have been entirely…exciting. They should start picking up next chapter which I hope to get to you by next week at least, if you're even still with me by then...**

**Mood: Tired!  
Listening to: Sometime Around Midnight - Airborne Toxic **


	3. Logan

**One Night With The King**

**Chapter 3 - Logan**

As she assumed before turning around to face him, his body was too close for her to meet his eyes without having to looking up. The first thing she glimpsed was a dull and rippled form of herself, trapped in all senses as a reflection in a gold-lined silver of his chest plate. Instead of going upwards to his face, her eyes shot to the floor where she glimpsed black expensive-looking leather boots just inches away from her own rugged brown ones. And since her eyes could not go further down, they went up but slowly and with as much hesitation as she could possibly express. At the knee, where his boots ended, began a deep royal purple with a single red stripe down the sides, making up the fine material of his trouser. Framing his narrow waist were two thick, black belts, both with brass buckles. On the upper belt a crimson sash hung from the buckle. But her eyes lingered at the lower belt, for it held a scabbard at his side that did not go without its deadly sharp contents. Absentmindedly, her eyes traced over the golden knobs and lines connecting them that fell in the center of the armor on his chest. She noticed one knob in the place of his left breast that held resemblance to the sun (which she found odd considering who it was), as well as a crimson sash similar to the one on his belt that swooped down over his left breast, sides hanging from one shoulder to the side of his neck, several rope-like strands hanging above it in a similar style. His broad shoulders were squared by his shoulder pads, adorned with golden tassels, a black cape lined with gold hung from the back. Though his arms were covered in the same royal purple material as his legs, it was still apparent that the man had not allowed an accommodating life in the castle to decrease the size of his biceps. To her surprise, they were big enough to match most of the hardworking men in the rebel camp. But as she furthered her gaze to the gleaming, ever gold-lined armor cuffs on his wrists and the black leather that covered his slender fingers and hands, she doubted he had the same warm and calloused palms as the men of the working class she was accustomed to. Around his neck, the collar of his shirt was popped in an almost villainous way, the thick gold lines looking more like a dog's collar than something to be seen on a man.

She swallowed and allowed herself to bring his face into vision, starting with his angular chin and the signature goatee upon it. She glanced over his sharp features; his chiseled nose flaring ever so slightly, his square jaw set visibly heavy and tight. His skin was fair and pallid, yet not as sickly as she remembered, with a faint amount of color splashed upon his high cheekbones. His complexion held no flaws save for the crease between his brows as they pulled down, and the mysterious scar that stretched over his thin lips as they pursed in a stoic slender line. His sable, brushed-back hair, usually combed neatly, was slightly unkept and she could not help but wonder if the smell of wine contributed to that. His narrow brows were knotted together in the way they always are, giving him his naturally stern expression as they protrude over his eyes. She had seen the king many occasions before now, but for some reason, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time.

The proximity of their two bodies was unwarranted, to say the least. However, it was not as objectionable as she would have liked it to be. She was close enough so that she could feel the warmth radiating off his body, feel his piercing eyes slowly grasping her soul. It seemed to expel a chill she hadn't known to be their. Ironically, in thought of this, a sudden shiver ran up the length of her back and she had to make certain the tone of her words did not betray her by clearing her throat before she spoke.

"Your Majesty..." She greeted quietly and lowered her head, bending at the knee in a feminine curtsey. The somewhat polite gesture was born mostly of out a habit she had developed, choosing not to cause a scene in the throne room by bowing respectively. It was _not_ because she respected him. His response to her address was a simple nod followed by no words. Despite her inner self commanding her to leave immediately, she took his arm, mainly out of surprise that he'd offered it to her at all.

Finally, she brought her chestnut gaze to meet his own. Oh, those _eyes. _She knew from previous experiences were the same brown color of her own, but looking at him now... It seemed as though they were a deep, soulless obsidian, more black than tar or a raven's feather. Bullish, cuneiform, gimlet eyes, deep-set by his prominent brow, narrow and jackal-like without emotion. She shuddered to look upon them. But there was something else there, too. One small emotion she couldn't quite place. A warm glimmer in the dark abyss, just barely dancing there across the cold. It was that small little flicker that caused her to take his arm, combined with the oddly soothing command "Come", and the fact that he offered an arm to take at all. Her delicate fingers wrapped around the crook of his elbow, one small hand resting in between his sizable bicep and the silver armor that cupped his wrist, and she was surprised to find that it was warm to the touch. As if she needed anymore surprise than that, instead of seeing the opposite gloved hand go to clench behind his back, she felt his large palm over hers, also astonishingly warm.

He led her up the main stair case in silence, away from the foyer. Once they reached the top, they were alone. Their were no servants around, or even guards. Just her, alone with the King. Before them were three passages, and she wondered which one would lead to his bed, her doom. Thoughts began to swerve wildly in her head. Frightening thoughts about the night still to come. She was so preoccupied that she did not realize they had stopped. As she looked up to him with a puzzled expression, she was both surprised and startled to find he was staring intently at her. Her manner immediately turned from confused to wary under his frightful gaze. But then she furrowed her brow almost angrily, and slowly slipped her hand from in between his arm and palm and folded her arms under her breasts, one hip jutting forward expectantly. Again, his gaze raked over her body, and she got the faintest feeling she was being undressed by his eyes alone with both of them powerless to stop it. She cleared her throat loudly in attempts to bring him back. It worked much to her relief. He paused a moment before speaking, "I must admit, I did not think you'd come." He spoke honestly, the huskiness in his voice rasped even more noticeably now.

She fought between the choice to shrug casually or roll her eyes disrespectfully, but decided on doing nothing. She just kept her gaze even with his. "The ends justify the means..." She said, trying to conceal her doubt that she would even reach the end or that he would oblige and give it to her. She watched as his lips reluctantly parted, no doubt with the intention of contend her words. But she was in no mood for a battle of wits. "Pardon me, my king," She interrupted, again taking on her more rare polite side. "But if you do not mind, I would rather get this over with wordlessly." Never before had she felt more like a helpless member of the oldest profession. But she'd rather not get herself into trouble by her tongue as it would only accomplish a far worse night for herself.

She was somewhat relieved when he closed his mouth and simply nodded, unsure if he was accommodating her request or was simply at a lost for words. His following reply confirmed it to be the prior. "As you wish..." He said, his tone inappropriately offhand. And that was that, for he then began to move towards their left. Page watched him go a few steps before focusing her gaze on the regal doors at the end of the hall. She contained her scared gasp and did her best to make her walking after him less shaky. But of course, she did fail and all but stumbled after him.

It was too short before he had the door opened, signaling for a _ladies first _entrance by stepping aside for her to enter. She did so reluctantly, glancing about the room before she stepped in. She was surprised to find it simple and void of any elaborate décor unlike most of the castle. The bed was big enough of course, but apart from it and its kingly sheets, there was little else in the room save for weapons hanging from the wall and plain sculptures and designs that were likely just left over from the late King and Queen living here.

She flinched as she heard the door shut behind her, its lock clicking miserly in place. Her shoulders tensed as she felt him behind her again, closer still. She felt his hands at her wrists, seeming to hold her in place. But then he trailed them upwards towards her shoulders. Slowly, his gloved palms lingers at the base of her neck for a mere moment before sliding down to the clasp of her cloak. She could feel his breath on her neck as he undid the clasp and imagined his mouth couldn't be more than inch away from her sensitive skin. She heard the cloak hit the floor.

She half expected him to begin at that very moment, but she was alleviated when instead there was a small draft as he went around her. Her relief was short lived as he only came to stop directly in front of her. She did not crane her head back, only lifted her eyes to meet his. In her peripheral vision she could sense him effortlessly removing a glove from his hand. His eyes never did leave her own, even as she felt a warmth on her face. He had moved his hand there, his palm gently stroking her cheek with a tenderness that surprised her, for she hadn't known he was capable of such a thing. A moment of caressing, and he slid his hand down to gently grasp her chin in his fingers. She stifled a sigh as his thumb gently grazed over her lower lip. All the while, he was bringing himself in closer. Page knew what was coming next as he slowly leaned forward. She kept her eyes open as he did this, and simply waited. But, either by his own reluctance or the fact she was still so tense, he stop less than a painful inch away from her mouth. She found herself following suit to close the gap in an impatience that surprised her. Both their eyes closed, and she allowed him to take her.

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**Well hi, guys! Guess what, it's mah birthday. Yes, yes I'm an old wrinkly woman now…Sixteen! I can't believe it…I want to be a kid again. Oh well. So, the past two days have been snow days for me. I had nothing to do so I spent most of my time writing another Logan fic ("If I Needed You", check it out!) and getting this one ready for you guys. Next will probably be the last chapter, so I hope you've enjoyed it. It's been fun to write, definitely! Thanks to you guys who reviewed, I cannot tell you how freaking high it makes me feel to get a review LOL. Well I better go. We're going to my favorite restaurant to eat, hurray! Tatty-bye my loves ^_^**

**Mood: Happy  
Listening to: Slow Fade - Casting Crowns **


	4. Known Better

**One Night With The King**

**Chapter 4 – Known Better**

Needless to say, when she decided to go through with this proposition, she wasn't expecting it to be enjoyable. If anything, she expected the exact opposite, and was fairly certain she'd get just that.

She'd anticipated the feeling of cold hands ravishing her body with a selfish greed that would pain her with every touch. She'd thought that having his bare flesh pressed to her own would be like hugging a corpse. She'd imagined him taking her with hard, cruel thrusts, each blow much more painful and punishing than the last. She'd wondered how sick he was, the awful things he'd make her stand through while he did them to her. Or worse, force her to do it to himself. And when it was all over, she predicted being thrown right back out in the streets of which she came, fully dressed or not, having gained nothing but nightmares from their union.

But instead, he'd surprised her. From the moment of that first kiss, all the way to the end.

When her lips met his for the first time, her breath caught in her throat. Not because the action itself had startled her; he made perfectly clear his intentions by leaning in closer and staring at her full, dark lips, and in truth she had been the one to close the small gap he'd created. No, it was because she was astonished at how...pleasing it had all felt, the felt an electric shock she felt deep within her at his touch.

The kiss had lasted for a while, she knew. But with him, it seemed much shorter, and she surprised herself by mourning the loss of his warmth on her lips. When he pulled away, another action that surprised her, she had felt his dark eyes searching her face as if to gauge her reaction. She swallowed and felt herself tremble beneath his gaze. Purposefully, she had not brought her own eyes up to return the gesture. Unconsciously, she ran her tongue over her lips and could taste him, the tang of his skin combined with the sweet hint of the wine that he had undoubtedly been drinking before her arrival.

Without thinking, he had slowly slid his arms around her waist to pull her as closer to him as possible, the wine he had previously consumed singing in his veins. Unlike everything else he had ever done as King, she had not resisted to it this time. From then on, their actions had seemed completely automated, instinctive. The meeting of their lips in an electric frolic issued a slow moan that purred from Page's lips, a reaction that would have astounded her had she been wary of her actions. With his arms around her waist she followed suit, sliding her own up his chest to lock around his neck in order to deepen the kiss.

Passion seemed to flood from them both, his arms fully enveloping her, pulling her so that space didn't exist between them at that moment. The thunder of their hearts seemed to be bouncing off the others chest, mirrored by desire coursed between them. There was a brief connection of tongues before another surge of electricity ran through them; leaving them both open to freely explore the other.

At some point after that, she became painfully aware of the hard sheet of armor that was separating them. Unable to pull away from the osculation, she let her fingers fumble over the latches of the chest plate and soon the metal fell from his torso to clatter at their feet along next to her previously discarded cloak and his tasseled shoulder pads. Soon, only his shirt adorned his chest. At the knowledge of such a thin material being the only thing that sundered them, a feeling of overwhelming excitement filled their chests and their contact became faster and rougher and far more heated. Quickly, she worked to remove the violent garment of his shirt, and with little work she had pulled it over his head and tossed it on the floor, breaking the kiss only long enough to do so. But as her hands found his now-bare chest again, she felt something off.

A coarse, rope-like hardness protruding from the otherwise smooth exterior of his skin. The unforeseen texture threw her off guard enough to make her gasp lightly and pull away, remaining close enough to feel his breath on her face but far enough to just glimpse his chest. He swallowed, because he knew what she would be looking at. There, standing out from the paleness of his skin like a tattoo, were a series of scars. Painful looking scars marring the skin of his chest that had to have been hell to obtain. There were three thin, red lines that slanted diagonally across his chest, each beginning at his right shoulder and snaking down to the left side of his middle. Underneath them, intersecting the last of the top scars, was a set of three more flowing in a similar pattern from under his left breast to his left hip. _They look like claw marks..._she thought. _So that was why he started wearing chest armor._

She chewed her bottom lip, finger brushing absentmindedly over the scars. For the first time since the whole ordeal began, she brought her gaze up to meet his own. His eyes were still the same dark, hollow hues but they seemed to be even more sulking than before. She could tell a terrible experience was linked to the claw skin on his torso, and she felt a strange sense of pity for him. Perhaps it was this that encouraged her to meet his lips again.

As time went on, the kisses and touches became more heated and more rough and soon they found themselves in a state of complete undress. She was surprised at how gentle he was with her, his warm body never pounding down painfully upon her as she predicted he would. In fact, there were times when she'd felt more in charge than he.

She had not felt the cold hands ravishing her body, but rather warm and tender touches caressing her in all the perfect places. When his body pressed against her own, he hadn't felt as lifeless and chilling as the corpse she imagined him to be. He'd insisted on no sick or disgusting deeds, and not once had a single thing he'd done been painful or punishing. She'd actually thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. But as they lay together in the solitude of his large bed, the room bathed in the gray light of dawn, her mind pondered over everything.

Her head lay weighted to his chest by her sleepiness and the exhaustion of her thoughts, her fingers drawing absentminded shapes on his skin, occasionally tracing over those oh so curious scars. He had drifted off into the warm embrace of sleep, another warm embrace he supplied never left her as his muscular arm stayed draped over her. She had snuggled up closely and girlishly against him, feeling more secure than she ever thought she would in his presence.

Bust still those nagging thoughts were there. She was reminded of why she was even here: his promise to end his tyrannical rule. She was also reminded of her doubt that he would keep his end of the bargain up. She wanted to believe he would after the way he carried himself last night, his kind demeanor and seemingly caring attitude. Surely he would... Or was it all just an act?

Whatever the case, she found her buzzing thoughts kept her from sleeping. With a sigh, she shrugged his arm off her shoulder and sat up, rubbing her temples and shaking her head. On whatever impulse, she craned her neck so that she could see his face.

Like most people did when they slept, he looked so much more at peace. His constantly worried and foreboding expression seemed to be chased away by black unconsciousness, and perhaps even dreams. She dared to think he could dream...only God knew what about if he did. But looking at him now, he seemed very much the young man she knew was buried somewhere deep underneath the exterior of a harsh ruler aged by being thrust into the position too young. It was this that changed her mind for her. He would keep his promise... Surely, he would. Those were among the last thoughts that passed through her mind before she curled up against him and drifted off to join him in sleep.

**-x-**

When she woke again, she found that she was alone, but her clothes had been folded and laid neatly at the foot of the bed. A glance around the room would prove the man she was looking for was no where to be found. Suddenly feeling rather lost and out of place, she had no idea what to do now. Should she just up and leave, head back to the slums and sewers of Bowerstone and forget the night ever happened? What about his promise?

After a moment's silent reasoning, she decided that she should set out to find him. She'd never known him to leave the castle; no reason he'd start now. Without a sound, she rose from the bed and dressed quickly for fear of being walked in on by one of the many servants or guards that dotted the castle.

Again adorned in her peasant-like outfit, Page set out through the surprisingly empty halls of the castle. She tried to remember her way around the way she'd come last night, only to realize she had forgotten most of it. Thankfully, the castle was no maze at all, and she quickly found the main staircase. At the top, she could see inside the throne room. It was empty save for a few guards who paid no heed to her whatsoever. Puzzled, she turned to go back down the stairs. Perhaps he was taking breakfast in the dining room. It was still breakfast time, wasn't it? Then again, she wasn't sure how long she'd slept.

She was about to set out in search for it down another hall, but a voice behind her stopped her in her tracks. "Here now, peasant." Came the bellowing tone of a soldier behind her, "What business have you here?" He stated officially.

She turned to face the haughty man, jutting one hip forward as she put a hand on either side. "I had some business with the King that is no concern of his guards. Is that a problem?" Her tone was snappier than had been intended.

Realization could be seen sparking in the man's eyes, the only feature that could be seen through the silver lines of his mask. "Miss, I am to escort you out of the castle. King's orders." He said abruptly, and without warning reached out to seize her by the wrist. Promptly, he began to drag her out the large double doors a few paces away.

"What? Unhand me, now! I demand it!" She said, knowing fully well the King's demand probably outweighed her own in any circumstance. But she couldn't comprehend that the man who'd treated her with such compassion as last night could arrange in such an underhanded way to avoid dealing with her. "You must have the wrong person, I have an important matter to discuss with the King."

The guard did nothing to stop himself, leading her down the stair and into the courtyard. "As it were, the King won't be meeting with you today."

"Oh? And why not?" She hissed.

"In the words of his majesty to you, Miss: you should have known better."

Page's jaw went slack and her mouth dropped open in shock. She was sure that had it not been for the man simply demanding she keep them working, her legs would have failed all together. He was right.

She should have known better…

**Done.**

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**And I'll just end it there, mwahaha. Sorry for the somewhat delayed update. School got to me for a while, there. Anyway, here's the last chapter. Also, sorry if you were looking for some big, extreme sex scene. Nothing against it, I'm just not that kind of writer. Well... Thanks again to everyone who reviewed/alerted/favorited...I guess you would say "favorited", right? Regardless, it means so much to me! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you all had fun reading it. Well then... Tatty-bye!**


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